


The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves

by Smittywing (Smitty)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Military Training, Prank Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-03
Updated: 2005-10-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smitty/pseuds/Smittywing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1988, Cadet First Class John Sheppard stole a goat.  In 2005, Major Lorne steals a Cat-Thing.  It turns out that stealing mascots is never as good an idea as one would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of this story is set at the US Air Force Academy and contains slang and traditions endemic to such things. My knowledge base is primarily the US Naval Academy so some of the terms and traditions may have been imposed on the USAFA by my own memories.

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard hadn't been allowed to choose the men and women serving under his command. They'd been pre-selected by General Landry and Colonel Caldwell by the time he got back to Earth. He wasn't sure how he felt about leading Caldwell's troops, but one look at Major Lorne's record told him that his second-in-command was absolutely the best person for the job.

"Says here you're an Annapolis grad," he said from behind his laptop.

"Yes, sir," Lorne replied. "Class of '92."

John leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "You were on the goat handling squad," he continued, not even trying to hide his glee.

"Yes, sir," Lorne said, still earnestly poker-faced. "Had some good times, me and Bill the Goat."

John decided that even a wickedly raised eyebrow was beneath him. It was just too easy.

"Yeah," he said instead. "You don't remember the score of the '88 game against Air Force, do you?"

Lorne's face went white, then red, then back to normal.

"Not off the top of my head, sir," he said in a voice that was ever-so-slightly choked. "Did you play?"

"No," John said, deciding right then and there that Lorne was a pretty standup guy for a ex-squid. "But I was a fan."

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

When Rodney brought back a tiny cat-thing with overly large, wet eyes from MXP-253, John should have seen trouble on the horizon. It was entirely too cute to be completely innocent.

The people of MXP-253 kept the creatures as pets. The governor's little daughter handed one to Rodney with the solemn declaration that he looked like he needed a cat. 'Wassal', actually, but John was just as happy to calling it a cat, and she was right -- Rodney definitely looked like he needed a cat. Mostly it was just excuse to tease him all the way back to the stargate.

Once Beckett had cleared the animal as safe, even Elizabeth couldn't tell Rodney no. Thusly, the newly dubbed Quark settled happily in Rodney's quarters and soon became the mascot of the science team.

"I'm just worried that she'll feel pressured to live up the my memory of Jake," Rodney fretted, chopping up pilfered meat for Quark's dinner as Quark herself sat on his desk and stared adorably at John. John tried not to stare back. "Really, it's not a contest and even though Jake was clearly a superlative representation of his species, Quark is a completely unique individual and needs to establish her own identity -- "

John rolled his eyes. "I just can't believe you're not allergic to her," he said, reaching out and rubbing two fingers behind Quark's ear, over the furry head. He really was more of a dog person but the eyes were too much, even for him.

Rodney paused and that made John glance up. Rodney could turn a pause into an event. "That is kind of odd, isn't it?" he said thoughtfully. "I never had a problem with animals, though. I mean, there was this dog that I had when I was a kid. He ran away and -- well, anyway, not an allergy." He set the Petrie dish of chopped meat in front of Quark and rubbed her behind the other ear. She dodged them both and started chowing down.

"I think we've been dumped for a dish of mystery meat," John remarked.

"Ah, well, cat loyalty," Rodney said. "What's this meeting about, anyway?"

"Unit morale," John said as they left Rodney's quarters and headed for the conference room in the control tower.

"Morale?" Rodney spat out, stopping short in the middle of the hall. When John showed no sign of breaking stride, he sacrificed his Posture of Outrage and caught up. "There is nothing wrong with morale," he said. "We're on Atlantis. We have a ZedPM. There are ten thousand things going on that qualify as the culmination of _someone's_ life work, and Elizabeth thinks we need to build morale? Is she insane?"

John shrugged. Privately, he felt the same way even though he knew some of the Marines were bored and homesick. With the Daedalus making regular runs, the new people were not quite the adventurers who had walked through the 'gate with him and Rodney and Elizabeth. Intellectually, he knew they couldn't have gone on as they were indefinitely without contact with Earth, but secretly he missed the old team and the constant hunt for a ZPM and even the adrenaline edge of the impending Wraith attack. He didn't miss regular encounters with the Wraith themselves and he didn't mind going almost six months without having to arm the self-destruct sequence or blow up a naquadah generator, but he was feeling a little aimless himself.

"Let's hear her out," he suggested to Rodney. "It could be fun."

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

"Go Kaplan, go Kaplan, go Kaplan!"

"BEAT NAVY, SIR!" Cadet 4th Class Kaplan slammed his mess hall glass onto the table and jumped off his chair.

"Good job, Kaplan." Cadet 1st Class John Sheppard looked down the table at his three [doolies](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#2), amused by tensely excited poker faces and stiff comportment. Kaplan was looking a little green. "Have your spare glass?" John asked a [Firstie](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#3) at the next table. It was summarily passed over and John slid it toward Kaplan. "Get some water," he said. "And carry on for the rest of the meal."

The doolies grinned and relaxed in their chairs. Kaplan went right for the water pitcher.

The week before one service academy played another at football was electric with bridling motivation. Nothing in Colorado Springs was as intense as Army-Navy week, John was sure, but the Air Force Academy had its ways of making its own events memorable. Mixing the contents of the condiment rack and having a doolie drink it wasn't one of John's preferred spirit activities -- entirely too likely to end in vomiting -- but one of the 2nd Class had ordered Kaplan to do a '[Beat Navy](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#1)' and John was more than happy to confer the reward of being permitted to talk at tables. After all, it was quasi-burrito day and Kaplan's glass had included both picante sauce and guacamole. John made a little more of a mess with his quasi-burrito -- it was passable for the East Coasters and Mid-Westerners who thought Taco Bell was Mexican food, but John had grown up in Texas and California and knew better.

Across the room, a blond Firstie lifted his chin and tilted his head toward the exit. John checked the time. He'd sat there long enough. He nodded and excused himself. The apples in the fruit cart looked bruised so he grabbed an orange and joined 1st Class Nate Guilday in the center aisle.

"The goat trots at midnight," Guilday intoned dramatically.

"Cut the crap and keep your voice down," John said, walking with Nate out of Mitchell Hall and up the stairs to the Vandenberg Hall dormitory. "Midnight?" he asked when they were alone.

"Oh-one-forty-two, actually," Nate said. "Dex is on watch and has the arrival schedule."

"Great," John said, going into his room and kicking the door loose from its wedged-open position.

"You have Rockets this afternoon?" Nate asked, his hand resting on the back of John's neck.

"And Linear Systems Analysis," John said. "And wallyball this afternoon."

"Ok, so I won't see you 'til tonight." Nate's thumb stroked John's neck and when John turned, Nate kissed him briefly.

"I wish you wouldn't," John murmured, his body tense with dread rather than arousal. He didn't finish the thought, though, because they both knew he didn't really mean it. "Meet at oh-one-hundred," he said instead, hefting his bag.

"Yeah, you tell -- oh, you don't have to, he's here," Nate said as John's roommate walked in.

"I'm here," Dan Walker confirmed, throwing a banana onto his desk. "What's the [gouge](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#4)?"

"Navy goatfuckers get here at oh-one-forty-two," Nate said. "We're suiting up at oh-one-hundred and Shep's leading the charge as soon as the squids get ol' Bill tucked in for the night."

John wished Guilday and Walker didn't insist on putting him in charge of these projects. One of these days it was going to get his ass kicked.

What he didn't realize was that it was going to be someday soon.

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

"This is a terrible idea," Rodney said as he and John walked out of the conference room.

"Shut up, she'll hear you," John said as if Rodney hadn't said the same thing fifteen minutes before, in front of the whole room.

"Of course you like it," Rodney complained. "You want to make it a sporting event. Do you know how many scientists have the least bit of interest participating in a sporting event? Especially against a squad of Marines?"

"It's not like we can play prime/not prime all day," John said. "I'll have a mutiny on my hands."

"I'm sure that would be as painful for us as it would be for them," Rodney said. "What else is there? Arts and crafts day? Talent competition?"

"A talent competition wouldn't be so bad," John mused. "I mean, it's fair. O'Grady can sing, at least."

"O'Grady thinks he can sing," Rodney corrected. "And you're tone-deaf."

John shrugged. "I am not," he said mildly. "But that's not a terrible idea."

"Yes. It is an extremely terrible idea," Rodney said. "Moving on, next terrible idea, please."

John rubbed his palm down his right pantleg. His trigger finger itched.

"What about," he suggested through gritted teeth, "something where we shoot things?"

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

Midshipman Fourth Class Lorne trailed the rest of Team Bill to the duty van waiting to take them to the visitors' dorms at the Air Force Academy. He'd never been to Colorado before, had definitely never been on a USNA movement order before, and he was barely awake enough to revel in his good fortune. An entire weekend of being treated like a real person, restaurant food in Colorado Springs with the rest of the goat handling team after the game, and best of all, one of the upperclass had helped him with his Chemistry and Calculus homework on the plane, so the [Twin Towers of Terror](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#8) wouldn't be looming over him all weekend. He leaned his head on the soft back of the van's seat and let the murmured voices of the officer representative and the duty driver lull him to sleep.

He jerked awake as they pulled into the Academy and blinked in wonder at the surrounding mountains. Annapolis had some beautiful landscapes, but they were East Coast wonders, docked ships and cobblestone streets and old chapels. The Severn River wasn't what he'd call appealing, but it was old and it had history. Colorado Springs had something more. It had a fresh, free, atmosphere, almost a wilderness that -- even in the dark -- called to Lorne. The air smelled different, cleaner, and he knew that it was thinner. The oxygen level was lower and he'd definitely be feeling it during his morning run.

"Get a canteen of water in you while you're up," Second Class Mulveny told him as they corralled Bill XXVI into his assigned space. "Best way to beat the altitude is stay hydrated."

Lorne nodded. Mulveny's first name was Bill, too. He'd [spooned](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#7) Lorne the first day they'd met, because they were teammates, but try as he might, Lorne just couldn't use his first name with a straight face. He said good-night to the upperclass and settled in to the chair next to Bill's stall. Third Class Connolly, whom he _did_ feel comfortable calling 'Brad' would relieve him in a few hours. Until then, all he had to do was watch over Bill and wait.

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

"Ok, so how about a MALP race?" John suggested, stirring his stew with a spoon. "We form teams, let them soup up the things any way they want, and then we can race them down that bowling alley we found last month."

"You mean the variable friction experimentation corridor?" Rodney asked in horror. "Absolutely not! Besides, what are you? Twelve? We're not playing Science Olympiad or Robotics Club here and we'd kick your asses anyway. Next thing, you'll be suggesting tug-of-war. Why don't we just have a nice safe bake sale except wait, we have no actual ingredients and no one on the science team can cook anyway!"

"I think you gentlemen are missing the point." They hadn't even seen Elizabeth approach. She set her tray down and slid into the third seat at the round table. She gave them both significant looks and lifted a spoonful of stew almost to her mouth before she looked at it and put her spoon down again. "We want this to be about collaboration, not competition. I know the science team is excited about the new discoveries they're making, but they're not integrating well with the military component of the expedition and Colonel, it's pretty obvious that the Marines are getting bored."

John screwed up one side of his mouth and winced. Elizabeth had accidentally discovered Betty Lou, Sergeant Catanese's blow-up doll that had become the mascot of the men's locker room. To say she was not amused was an understatement and it took John quite a lot of backtracking to convince Elizabeth that he honestly had no idea it even existed after his initial assertion that Betty Lou was the name it had come with and no reflection whatsoever on Elizabeth, whose middle name wasn't actually anywhere close to Louise.

"McKay thinks we should have a talent show," he said, and sucked some stew off his spoon to keep from having to talk again.

"Oh, I did not," Rodney objected. "I _said_ that a talent show was a better idea than any of the lame contests of physical prowess that you were coming up with, and then, if I recall correctly, which I do, I said that it was still a terrible idea."

"I think it's a great idea," Elizabeth said, watching John's face as he tried to swallow the lumpy parts and pushing her bowl away. "A talent competition would allow everyone to view others a little more three-dimensionally and it wouldn't hurt to let everyone have some time to develop or enhance their hobbies. Maybe if we did a showcase instead of a competition, it would be easier to include everyone's contributions."

John could see no good coming of this himself and Rodney was looking supremely horrified.

"I lead a team of extremely dedicated, career-oriented workaholics," he argued, his voice pitching high. "We don't _have_ hobbies, let alone time to indulge in them!"

"You play the piano," Elizabeth said bluntly.

"You do?" John asked, having never heard this before.

"Played, past tense. As in, occurred a very long time ago. I assume you are both familiar with that principle, as you possess college degrees of some sort, even if they're not in anything useful," Rodney snapped. His jaw was starting to twitch.

"You played the piano?" John asked again.

"I bet some of the Marines have hidden talents," Elizabeth said, cheerfully ignoring Rodney's sputtering.

"Like shooting holes in things?" Rodney asked. "Can they re-create The Scream with 9 millimeter bullets punched through a paper target?"

Rodney looked like he was about to re-create The Scream himself, so John decided to let the piano question go for now.

"I don't know that you're necessarily going to get a lot of singing and dancing out of the Marines," he said doubtfully. As much as he hated to agree with Rodney when Rodney was in this state, he had to admit that the talent competition sounded like a frightfully bad situation to handle.

"All right," Elizabeth said, biting her bottom lip. "I'll tell you what. The two of you have one week to raise morale on this city, no questions asked. If I am not observing a marked improvement by then, I'm announcing the talent show and putting the two of you in charge."

Rodney moaned and John was so busy trying not to, it didn't even turn him on.

"Gentlemen?"

"Ok!" Rodney caved. "Ok, fine. We will do something. Anything. Just do not foist that -- that circus on us."

"One week," Elizabeth said, standing and taking her tray away with her.

"This is all on you, you know," Rodney said when she was nominally out of earshot.

"What? How is this my fault?" John asked. He was still biding his time on the piano thing.

"I'm not saying it's your fault, although it clearly is. I'm saying that my science team is not the morale problem. Your troops need to be perky and cheerful and happy to be here by next week or Elizabeth is dumping this thing on our heads, and by us, I mean you."

"Fine," John said huffily. "I'll take care of it."

"See that you do."

"Fine."

"Fine."

John stabbed the spoon into his mouth. "You got any Power Bars in your room?"

"Oatmeal Raisin."

John looked around the mess and found no one in earshot. He lowered his voice anyway. "Trade you one for a blowjob?"

Rodney smiled. "This is a new low, even for you," he said cheerfully. "Let's go."

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

Walker was using the phone banks downstairs and John was finishing his Rockets homework when Nate came through the door.

"Where's Walkabout?" he asked, leaning over John's shoulder. "And why are you doing homework on a Friday night?"

"Dan's on the phone with Christine," John muttered, clicking more lead out of his mechanical pencil, "and we can't all be bull majors."

"We can't all be closet prodigies either," Nate contested, kissing the back of John's neck.

"I am a big fan of the closet," John said grimly, abandoning his equation and turning to reach for Nate.

"Also inappropriate humor," Nate said dryly.

John's desk was around a corner, a blind spot from the doorway. It meant that they had plenty of time to break apart and for Nate to adopt a casual slouch when Dan Walker finally entered, five minutes late.

"I'm sorry, Captain," John mocked in a high-pitched voice. "I was late for takeoff because I was busy planning my wedding."

"Shut the fuck up, Shep," Walker said lazily -- because he didn't have to sneak around to get his nookie, John though uncharitably. "Man, how many days 'til graduation?"

"Ask a doolie," Nate said, pulling a watch cap from his pocket. "Then add ten until you're back under the ball and chain."

"229," John said, pushing his homework to the back of his desk and opening the top drawer. He found two tubes of cammo paint and handed the light one to Nate. He squirted some of the dark on his own fingers and dabbed at his forehead, nose, chin and cheekbones -- the highlighted parts of his face. Nate rubbed the light paint on the shadowed areas and they switched. Dan changed out of his PE gear and into cammie pants, a dark t-shirt, and then swiped both tubes to matte out his already dark face. John gave them the once-over. Nate's blond hair was hidden by his dark knit cap and both he and Dan were dark enough not to need one.

As Firsties, John and Dan had managed to procure a room that was in the back hallway and next to a stairwell, so they managed to get downstairs without being noticed. The second classmen had all returned from liberty by midnight and the ones on weekend were still out in town drinking.

They stayed in the shadows, next to buildings, and could hear the watch patrols and a squadron of doolies off to commit some bit of mischief in the name of spirit. John beckoned toward the falconry and its attached sheds.

John peered inside, glancing over the stall and the lone figure leaning a chair against the wall. He eased back and held up one finger. Walker nodded. He was by far the largest of the trio and since one door meant a frontal assault, he'd be in charge of incapacitating the guard. John held up his hand, five fingers spread, and tucked each one in slowly. When he had a fist, Walker went in. Two beats later, John and Nate followed him.

The squid was putting up a struggle, but Walker had gotten a beefy arm around his neck and swung him against the wall where he proceeded to cut off the kid's air with his forearm. John unwound the lengths of rope he'd wrapped around his waist, under his inside-out sweatshirt, and waited for Dan to do his thing. A moment later, the squid sagged. Dan pulled him around and eased his grip. John checked the kid's breathing and, satisfied with the air expelled on his hand, nodded at Dan to put him back in the chair. John bound his hands and feet to the arms and legs of the chair and knotted a handkerchief around his eyes. He used a second handkerchief to gag the kid but didn't make it tight.

Satisfied that they'd eliminated the guard, he turned his attention to the stall. Inside, Bill XXVI slept, snoring. John hadn't known goats snored. He also hadn't expected Bill to be quite so large. Or dirty.

"That is one ugly motherfucker," Dan muttered, looping rope around the goat's back legs.

"No shit," Nate agreed, taking care of the front end.

"You guys go ahead," John ordered softly. "I'm going to wait for the squid to wake up and then I'll meet you at the hangar."

They nodded and shuffled off with Bill between them, and John sat back on his heels. He didn't have to wait long.

"Name, rank, and serial number," he said when the kid moved his head and made a noise.

Angry and very muffled sounds came from beneath the gag. John believed he was being cursed out by a mere [plebe](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#5).

"Hey," he said, resting a hand on the top of the kid's head. The noises quieted. "I'm going to ask you a question. If the answer is yes, grunt once. If it's no, grunt twice. Can you breathe?" One grunt. He sounded, John thought in inappropriate amusement, disgruntled. "Do you have circulation in your hands and feet?" A pause while the kid wiggled his hands and tried to move his feet. One grunt. "It's not personal, plebe," John said. "You'll be ok until morning." Just to be an ass, he patted the kid on the head and took off at a run. He met Dan and Nate coming out of the unused hangar on the airfield that they'd picked out earlier that week for storage of Bill XXVI.

Nods from both told John that the mission was accomplished and Bill was tucked safely away until later. He beckoned them back toward the main campus. Two miles later, they were safely in Dan and John's room, wiping their faces and pulling off sweaty clothes.

"Can you imagine the squids' faces when their goat's gone and their guard's tied up?" Dan asked, leaning forward and slapping his knee. He roared with laughter.

"Man, that thing weighed a ton," Nate added. He was grinning and John could feel the excitement pouring off him. It was contagious.

"We shall live in infamy, gentlemen," he said with mock solemnity. "Go Air Force. Beat Navy."

"I need a shower," Dan said, grabbing his towel. "That fucker stank to high heaven."

John grinned at him and Dan grinned back, nodding. "Get rid of the evidence," he said.

The door closed behind Dan, leaving Nate and John alone.

"God, what a rush," Nate rasped, and pressed himself up against John. John could feel his cock, hard in his utility pants, and sealed his mouth against Nate's, giving in to the energy thrumming through his body. He swept his tongue through Nate's mouth, pulled back and sucked lightly at his lower lip, and then dove back in, letting his hands clutch at Nate's swimmer's shoulders. Nate moved his hips against John's leg, his hand large and warm on John's neck.

John dragged his mouth away with a gasp and Nate bent his head to tongue John's Adam's apple. He felt Nate's hand between his legs, through his pants, and wanted to come.

"I could blow you right here," Nate whispered. "We could be done before Dan gets back."

John wanted to say yes, wanted to end a perfect prank night with a perfect orgasm but the risk made the back of his neck tingle and his chest seize up. He got off on risk, he told himself, but not this much risk. This was just stupid. Tomorrow night, he told himself, pushing Nate away gently. Tomorrow night they could go out drinking, in civvies, and drive out somewhere in Nate's T-Bird and park and neck and blow each other until 0100.

"Guilday," he said with as sarcastic a smirk as he could muster, pushing arm's length with a squarely planted palm. "Fuck, no. You smell like goat."

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

"Major!" John had spotted the back of Lorne's head as he'd turned the corner and broke into a jog to catch up with the other man.

"Colonel," Lorne greeted him back, pausing and stepping to the side of the hall so they could walk side-by-side.

"We have a problem," John said, matching strides with Lorne.

Lorne raised his eyebrows.

"We need to up the morale by next week or risk Dr. Weir holding a talent competition," John explained. "And by Dr. Weir, I mean me and McKay. And by me and McKay I mean -- "

"Me and Zelenka," Lorne finished.

John grinned humorlessly. Lorne was a great 2IC. He already had a firm grasp of the situation.

"Right. So. We need some morale. In a hurry. Are we on the same page?" He raised his eyebrows at Lorne.

"Yes, sir," Lorne said with a fair degree of enthusiasm. "I'll get right on that."

"Good man," John said, clapping him on the back. "Please don't give me details."

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

Lorne spent four hours shifting between enraged and humiliated, and by the time Mulveny and Brad Connolly came to relieve him, he'd almost managed to work the gag out.

He'd expected to get flamed for _losing Bill_ but they seemed pretty intent on blaming the zoomies and ensuring Lorne wasn't any worse for the wear after his hours of captivity.

The next two hours were sort of a blur, as Mulveny reported the theft of Bill to their officer advisor and Lieutenant Hill passed the message up the USAFA chain of command until Lorne was sitting in the Commandant of Cadets' office, assuring him that no damage had come to his person. He thought about adding that whoever had tied him up had taken special consideration to ensure his safety, but he wasn't feeling that charitable.

Lieutenant Hill turned them loose at 0800, reminding them to be ready to ride over to the game at noon. He was pretty pissed and Lorne was feeling pretty guilty.

"We need to go find Bill," he said. "We've got four hours. Whoever took him is going to be up and moving around."

"You don't think they're just going to make him AWOL for the game?" Brad asked doubtfully.

"I wouldn't," Lorne said. "I'd pull some prank to embarrass us and show that Bill's not there."

Mulveny and Connolly exchanged amused glances. "You know," Connolly said slowly, "it'd be a shame if the zoomies wound up missing their bird, too."

"It would," Mulveny agreed. "Ok. We'll go look into snatching the falcon, you go look for the goat. We'll come help out if there's too many people around.

Lorne tossed off a mock salute and followed Mulveny and Connolly to the falconry and Bill's empty stall.

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

"McKay to Sheppard."

John thought that he hadn't heard that tone of contempt and displeasure in Rodney's summons since, well, at least a week ago.

"Sheppard here," he said, touching the radio. He was five yards away from the jumper bay. Four. Three.

"You're needed in the lab _yesterday_ ," Rodney snapped. "Whatever you're about to insist you need to do is nowhere near as important as what is going on here."

John opened his mouth, closed it again, and executed a marching pivot at the jumper bay doors. They opened for him anyway. He felt like a tease.

"I'm on my way," he said as pleasantly as he could and reminded himself that Rodney have given him a spectacular blow job that morning and he hadn't even had to give up a Power Bar.

Chaos greeted him at the lab.

"What is going on?" he asked, shoving past Kavanaugh to get to Rodney.

Rodney thrust a piece of paper into his hand. " _This_ is what is going on," he said. His voice was strident and irritated -- that specific note of strident and irritated that meant Rodney was one wrong word away from losing it.

John took the note silently, not willing to contribute that one wrong word.

WE HAVE YOUR CAT-THING,

the note read.

That was it.

"This is it?" John said, holding up the note between his index and middle fingers. "No ransom demand? No indication of motive?"

He was very impressed that he managed to say all three sentences with a straight face.

"That's it," Rodney confirmed. "I insist -- I _demand_ that you start an investigation at once and find out who would do such a thing. Quark is very special to the science team and now she's alone. In the hands of -- of the fiend that did this."

John nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. This was _entirely_ his fault. Lorne had completely interpreted his request incorrectly, but really, given their history, this was John's fault. Granted, this was going to amuse the Marines for _months_ but it also meant that Rodney and most likely the rest of the science team would be pissy beyond belief for -- well, for as long as it took Lorne and the Marines to get bored or the science team to run across something new and fun and forget about Quark.

Sadly, the impact on John's personal life, most notably his blow job schedule, was going to be considerable.

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

Saturday morning formation was the usual sleepy affair, cadets lined up in PE gear and upperclass with red eyes making incoherent announcements before stumbling back to bed for a few hours.

A Naval Academy exchange cadet, a Second Class, had been assigned to the squadron a floor down and he'd been found duct-taped to a chair with the words, "Go Air Force, Beat Navy" written on his chest in blue ink. The Squadron Commander intoned doom unto anyone who may have participated in such a heinous act, reminded everyone of the time and location to be in formation and ready to go for that afternoon's game, and stumbled into the wardroom. A few seconds later, television sounds blared.

John looked at his doolies, who were looking a little red around the eyes themselves, and thought of the Navy midshipman he'd left tied up in Bill's stall. He walked down the line and paused in front of them.

"How you feeling, Kaplan?" he asked.

"Outstanding, sir!"

John nodded. "You guys have a productive evening?"

The chorus of "Sir, yes, sir," was a little less assertive than Kaplan's enthusiastic answer.

"Good," he said cheerfully. "Go memorize some rates or do some Calculus. I'm going back to bed."

Formation broke up and Nate caught up with John and Dan as they headed back to their room in the back hallway.

"Phase two, gentlemen," John said, stripping off his drawstring shorts and the 1986 Air Force/Navy game t-shirt from his Third Class year. He pulled a regulation undershirt over his head and stepped into his flight suit, zipping it up to his collarbone.

"Are you going to have time to get into uniform?" Dan asked, pulling on his own flight suit.

"Yeah, it'll be a pinch but I'll be ok."

"You'll have my squad, right?" Nate asked, getting into the flight suit he'd left in John and Dan's room the night before.

"Yeah, I'll take them," John said. "You have the gear?"

"Right here." Nate grinned. "Bill's about to become a zoomie."

They ran downstairs, no one looking at them twice in their flight suits. Saturday morning training, they all assumed, guessing that firstie laziness hadn't yet taken hold.

"Y'know, there was no announcement at morning quarters," Nate said. "You think they found him already?"

That idea slowed their pace a bit.

"No," John said decisively. "If they'd found him already, they'd be screaming bloody murder over who had taken him and tied up the squid. That they haven't said anything means they're trying not to humiliate the middies." They jogged past the falconry and John had a flash of guilt. "I'm going to check the shed," he said. "I just want to make sure the kid we tied up got out of there."

"Well, hurry," Dan told him. "And be careful. It's like returning to the scene of the crime, man."

"I will," John promised and sprinted off in the other direction. There was a clutch of cadets from the falconry team gathered around the building and John saw a guy he knew from class. "Hey," he said, approaching. "I was on my way to the airfield -- "

"Shep! Dude, someone stole the goat!"

John blinked.

"Seriously! The Navy mascot! Someone took it! They're trying to keep it all hush-hush but they came in today," his classmate said, jerking his head toward the stall, "and the goat was gone and their guard all tied up. Man, I wish I'd gotten to see it!"

John spent a few seconds agreeing that it had been a great prank and faked an urgent need to get to the airfield. He had to take an emergency detour off the trail when he realized the officer walking the trail three hundred yards in front of him was his squadron Air Officer Commanding, Captain Davis. He stumbled along parallel to the trail for another mile and emerged into the field undetected. He was only about a hundred yards away from the hangar when Dan and Nate burst out, looking disheveled.

"John," Nate said. "Bill is gone."

* * *

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_

The worst part of the Quark Incident, John realized quickly, was avoiding Elizabeth. As usual, she was right on top of everything that happened in Atlantis and there was no way John could swear complete innocence -- or ignorance -- over Quark's disappearance. And Elizabeth had an almost maternal instinct about guilt.

The second worst part of the Quark Incident, John realized a little less quickly, was avoiding Rodney. Fortunately, it was generally easy to hear Rodney before seeing him, and that kept John on the move for quite a while.

John was walking down the hallway to Lorne's room to check up on Quark when he saw Weir reflected in one of the shiny baubles standing at the junction of two halls. He turned on his heel and went resolutely the other way, walking right into Rodney.

"There you are," Rodney snapped, grabbing John's forearm. "Why aren't you on radio?"

"I was working out," John protested, which had been true four hours ago.

"Well, I just thought you should know," Rodney hissed, checking the hallway for eavesdroppers. "We suspect the Marines."

"We?" John repeated, so he didn't have to feign indignity that Rodney would suspect his people.

"Science team," Rodney said shortly. "We're sure they have Quark and we've cut off hot water and climate controls to those quarters."

"You've _what_?" John asked, forgetting to keep his voice low.

"Shh!" Rodney's quarters weren't far, down the hall and around the corner, and John found himself dragged there and behind the door in seconds. "We've cut off hot water, AC, heat, all that, from the Marines until they give up Quark. Your quarters are fine, of course, because we all know you're on our side, and if someone screws up, you know you can just come stay with me."

John blinked. "I'm on your side?" he said dumbly.

"Everyone's seen you slip cheese and...stuff...for Quark. They know you love her."

John felt intensely guilty.

"Rodney," he said hesitantly and then stopped. He couldn't sell out Lorne, not when this was mostly his own fault, anyway.

"Look, I know you've been working hard on this investigation thing," Rodney said. "I haven't seen you for a day and a half. We're just trying to help out some."

John nodded slowly.

"So," Rodney said, eagerness bleeding into his expression. "What have you found out?"

"Um." Stall, stall, he told himself. "I've got some leads," he said slowly and did Rodney just lean forward? "The thing is," he amended, "I'm trying to keep it quiet, y'know? Put some feelers out, lay a few tracks, wait for the guilty party to hang himself. And I'm afraid if I tell anyone exactly what I'm doing, the...culprit...will get suspicious."

Rodney's face fell a little and the guilt was back in force.

"All right," he said. "I understand."

"I'm sorry," John said with as much faux reluctance as he could offer.

"It's ok." Rodney smiled a brave, lopsided smile. John had a sense of impending doom. "I just...got used to having her around. She licked my face in the morning and was there when I came home and I feel like I failed her! I let some awful men take her away and who knows what they're feeding her!"

John cringed. They were going to have to _talk_.

"You know, it's just like that dog I had when I was eight. My father wouldn't pay for a license and so when it got out and disappeared, there was nothing they could do to track it and -- you know what would really help right now?"

John hoped his horror wasn't visible on his face. They were going to have to talk about _feelings_. "What?" he asked, raising one eyebrow and preparing to bolt for the door.

Rodney's gaze was sincere. "A comfort blow job."

"Oh." Well. That would absolutely cut down on the talking. John could do that. John could definitely do that. "I can do that," he said, stepping closer to Rodney.

"Good, because I'm really starting to miss her and I'm wondering whether she's homesick and it would be really nice to have some company to take my mind off the whole thing -- "

John helped Rodney take his mind off the whole thing by sticking his tongue down Rodney's throat. That took care of the talking thing nicely, and by the time he got Rodney stripped down and sprawled across his bed, there was no question that Rodney's mind was definitely off anything regarding small alien cats.

John was feeling extremely sensitive and comforting when he finally eased off and wiped his mouth. He was just unbuttoning his own pants for a little comfort of his own when Rodney sat straight up.

"That's it!" he exclaimed, jumping off the bed rather spryly for someone claiming bonelessness thirty seconds earlier and hopped around the room, trying to get his legs into the correct part of his pants.

"Um," John said, watching Rodney yank a shirt over his head and glanced down at his own uncomforted anatomy.

"I've got an idea!" Rodney called, doing up his pants and trying to stand on one foot to put his boots on. He crashed heavily against the wall but managed to stay upright. "We should be able to find her in no time!" He hopped into his other boot and was out the door before John could call after him again.

"Gee, Rodney," he said to the room. "Glad I could help."

He rolled his eyes, adjusted himself so not to be obvious, and drank a glass of water from Rodney's sink. Sufficiently calmed, he ventured back into the hallway, glad there was no one around to see him walking out of McKay's room with McKay nowhere to be found.

Lorne's quarters weren't far away and it was a good thing, because John needed Quark back, and now. He wasn't sure if Rodney had caught on to his complicity or if he was just channeling the Absent-Minded Professor, but he had to put an end to it right now.

And maybe, if he was lucky, he'd get a blow job of gratitude from the deal.

He steeled himself and knocked on Lorne's door. It took the Major so long to answer that John almost turned away and called him on the radio.

"Yeah, did you -- Colonel."

John looked Lorne over carefully. He was wearing mesh shorts that had lost most of their elastic, a Property of the US Air Force t-shirt that was soaked in sweat and had at least a dozen small rips throughout the torso and no sleeves, and his face had a nasty red scratch down one cheek. His hair was spiked up in a sorry imitation of John's own style.

"Cut yourself shaving?" John asked, nodding at the scratch.

"That cat," Lorne said, belatedly tacking a, "Colonel," on the end, "is a hellbeast."

"Well," John said, smirking. "I guess it's a good thing I've come to take her off your hands, then. We've driven McKay crazy enough and I'm sure you guys want your hot water back on." ...And John wanted his Blow Job of Gratitude.

"Oh, the hot water's just the start of it," Lorne said darkly. "Trust me, Colonel, I would love to give that thing back to McKay."

"And the problem with this is?" John asked, feeling his Blow Job of Gratitude slip away.

Lorne's face took on a helpless cast and it was all John could do to wait until Lorne said the actual words before dropping his face into his hands and groaning.

"Colonel, Quark's gone."

* * *

_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_

"What do you mean, 'Bill is gone'?" John asked in his most controlled voice. "Bill is a goat. How is the goat gone?"

"Chewed through the damn ropes," Dan said, holding the soggy remains of the tether.

"Well, we have to find it," John said, voice rising on the last words.

"It probably hasn't gone far," Dan suggested. "Let's split up and see if we can find it. I mean hell, it's a goat, it's not like it's going to be hard to recognize."

John pulled a face and turned away. "Guilday," he said, "give me the stuff."

"You sure?" Nate asked, handing him the small pouch.

"Yeah. Look, we have about an hour until anybody misses us," John said. "We'll split up and search, if either of you two find it, come back this way and find me. If you don't find it, go on back. I'll look for as long as I can and bring out the cart when I find it. Captain Davis loves me. I can risk the AWOL if we don't find him."

"If we don't find him," Dan said, "you can come back with us and it's like it never happened. Someone will find the damn thing. They probably already have."

John looked at his friends. Dan was probably right but John hated leaving loose ends.

"Let's see if we can find it first," he said, hoping to be able to put off the decision at all. They split up into three directions. Nate and Dan went to the check the other hangars. John started toward another hangar, then decided to go back to where they had been keeping Bill. The bits of food they'd scavenged from the mess hall were gone and John wondered if they hadn't donated enough. Goats were trash compactors, he knew, and if Bill was hungry -- and wily -- enough to chew through his rope, he might have gone looking for more to eat. He walked the runways for a few minutes and almost immediately found patches of masticated grass.

He followed the trail, backtracking twice when he went too far, and pausing when he reached the airstrip. A DHC-6 Twin Otter sat on the tarmac, engine engaged, and left cargo door open. The Academy used them for training cadets in rapid aircraft egress -- skydiving. John had been up in one dozens of times, but this one didn't seem to have a passenger manifest. Everyone was supposed to be at the game.

 _Bad news_ he thought with one last glance back at the hangars. Guilday and Walker were nowhere in sight. The DHC-6 was the only thing on the runway and its engines were engaged. Before he really thought about what he was doing, John had dashed up the little metal staircase on the side of the Twin Otter and started looking under the tarps and O2 canisters and jump packs stowed in the back.

He was so busy looking for Bill the Goat, he almost didn't hear the attack from behind.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
"What happened in here?" John asked, staring at the disaster area that was Lorne's quarters. The air temperature had to be close to a hundred degrees, an altogether too perky pop tune pulsed in the air, and the place was _trashed_.  
  
"I'm telling you, sir, that cat's a menace to society."  
  
"It's a _cat_ , Major. A kitten. It fits in my hand." John picked up a battered copy of Stephenson's _Cryptonomicon_ and smoothed his thumb over the shredded cover. "Trade you _War and Peace_ for this when you're done."  
  
" _War and Peace_ sucks, sir."  
  
"Kids these days," John muttered. "No sense of tragedy." He set the book down. "That cat did all this?" he asked, looking at the room. A few clothing items looked ripped and an MRE appeared to have exploded over an entire corner. Water puddled out of the open bathroom door and the bits of cardboard from a carton of Power Bars were everywhere, but mostly everything just looked knocked down or disrupted, not permanently damaged. "All right," he said, leaning against a table and crossing his arms across his chest. "When was the last time you saw it?"  
  
"About 1300, sir," Lorne said, fingering the scratch on his cheek. "I brought back some of that meat from lunch because it didn't seem to like Power Bars much and when I opened the cage, it clawed me. Figured it didn't much like being in there, so I left it open and let the thing run around my quarters."  
  
"Big mistake there," John commented, glancing around.  
  
"Right, sir." Lorne's dry tone reminded him that he, Walker, and Guilday had used regular rope to tie a goat up in an airplane hangar.  
  
"Ok, so it's been three hours. It's not that big. It can't have gotten that far." John straightened up.  
  
"If you say so, sir."  
  


* * *

  
  
_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_  
  
Lorne had been lurking by the falconry when he heard a familiar voice. The nowhere-in-particular drawl and lazy vowels matched the voice that had spoken to him last night in Bill's stall. It was the best lead he had, so Lorne slipped around the building and saw a tall zoomie with dark hair jogging off up the path. He followed as quietly as he could, but the other guy ducked into the trees and Lorne was left following the trail. It came out at a small airfield and the guy was already there. Staying at the treeline, Lorne watched as two other Air Force cadets came running out of a hangar in flight suits and consulted with the dark-haired guy. Lorne couldn't tell for sure, but he thought maybe the black guy was holding a piece of rope.  
  
They split up a moment later and the dark-haired guy stayed on the tarmac, wandering just inside the hangar, then back out and walked slowly along the edge of the paved area. Lorne hung back, knowing better than to rush him in an open space, in the middle of broad daylight. He held his position for as long as he could, but when the zoomie walked up the ramp of the waiting plane, Lorne broke cover and sprinted across the field.  
  
The metal stairs made noise under his feet, but the zoomie was right inside the door and Lorne went for the same chokehold the big guy had used on him the night before. The zoomie twisted as he swung and they both tumbled to the floor. The running engines masked the sound of their bodies' impact and when Lorne twisted his head, he felt a wave of vertigo hit, or else the trees outside were moving.  
  
"What are you _doing_?" the zoomie growled, catching Lorne by the elbow and twisting himself free. He rolled back into a crouch and blinked at Lorne, his eyebrows rising. Lorne focused enough to read the nametag on the guy's flight suit -- Sheppard. "You're the squid. The one -- oh, fuck."  
  
"You tied me up and left me in a goat shed! You stole Bill!"  
  
"I also lost Bill, so how about you stop yelling at me and help me find him again, all right?"  
  
"You lost Bill?" Lorne repeated, a little gobsmacked by the guy's -- Sheppard's -- candor.  
  
"Yeah, he chewed through the rope. He do that a lot?"  
  
"I -- I don't know. I've only been doing this for two months."  
  
"Right, plebe." Sheppard shook his head and turned away. "All right. Let's -- crap."  
  
Lorne blinked and started to ask what was wrong, but the problem became immediately obvious.  
  
The plane was lifting off.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
Sheppard had just stepped back into the hallway when his radio clicked.  
  
"Sheppard here," he said, eyes already sketching down the hallway, looking for hiding places large enough to hold a very small cat. He wondered if he should find some meat to attract Quark's attention.  
  
"Colonel, you'll want to come down here." It was Beckett's voice and Sheppard couldn't tell if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to yell. "I think Rodney's missing his pet?"  
  
"I'll be right there," Sheppard said immediately. "Come on," he said to Lorne, clicking his radio off. "Beckett's got Quark."  
  
Unfortunately, Beckett didn't actually _have_ Quark.  
  
"As you can see," Carson said glumly when Sheppard and Lorne arrived, "the place is a bit of a mess."  
  
The main casualty seemed to white cotton gauze. Lots and lots of white cotton gauze.  
  
"Well," John said, trying to look on the bright side, "I was starting to miss snow."  
  
"Aye, that's not all," Carson said with a sigh. He waded through a sea of gauze, overturned boxes and mostly intact syringe packets. John glanced back at Lorne, who shrugged, and picked through the mess after Carson. "I'm afraid Rodney's pet might have done this," Carson said, holding up a masticated Power Bar wrapper.  
  
"I'd say that's a safe bet," John agreed. "Tore up the Major's quarters right good, too."  
  
"You didn't try to feed the things any of these, did you?" Beckett asked, holding up the wrapper.  
  
"Er," said Lorne. "Was I not supposed to?"  
  
"Oh," said Carson. "This is bad."  
  


* * *

  
  
_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_  
  
"Ok, we need to get into a seat and strap in," John called as the plane nosed up and they both rocked backward. He crawled across the tilting floor and dragged the cargo door closed.  
  
Bill the Goat, who had been nosing the foodpacks near the front of the cargo bay slid back, hooves scrabbling on the metal aisle.  
  
"Bill!" The squid scrambled forward and hooked one arm around the goat's back, bracing his boots against the seat struts.  
  
"Oh, for crying out loud," John muttered under his breath and went to help the kid. He had better traction and managed to hold them both in place as the plane ascended and leveled off. "What's your name?" he asked as he detached himself from pileup on the deck.  
  
"Midshipman Fourth Class Lorne, sir!"  
  
"Right, Lorne, what are you doing at the Academy?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"  
  
"Recon Marine, sir!"  
  
Recon Marine. Suddenly this explained a lot.  
  
"Recon Marines are stupid, Lorne. They jump out of perfectly good airplanes for the fun of it, you got me? Do you want to be stupid, Lorne?"  
  
The kid looked torn and it was no wonder -- John had just nailed him in his favorite verbal trap.  
  
Without demanding an answer, John picked himself up and checked the altimeter in the jumpmaster's equipment. Five thousand feet and holding. No passengers, so it must be someone getting their hours in, or an informal lesson. Talking to Lorne had given him an idea.  
  
John paced back to the rear storage area and found four parachutes. He glanced at the ceiling. A static line was already in place from the week's jump training runs.  
  
"Hey," he called to Lorne, who was fawning over his nasty, smelly, caprine mascot. The kid jumped to his feet. "You jumped before?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Simple question, plebe. Have you ever jumped out of an airplane?"  
  
"I did a couple of tandem jumps in high school, sir."  
  
"Good, we're taking this goat and we're getting off this cruise ship." John threw him one of the backpacks containing a parachute and watched Lorne's eyes widen in panic.  
  
"Sir, isn't there _training_ involved?"  
  
"You think I'm going to push you out of this plane without a lesson? You see this pack? You put it on. You jump out of the plane. You count to ten. You pull the cord."  
  
"I thought you said jumping out of a perfectly good airplane was stupid?"  
  
"I thought you wanted to get your goat to the stadium in time for kickoff."  
  
"Sir, are we even over the stadium?"  
  
"We'll take that up with the pilot, as soon as I'm sure you're going to be able to do this," John said, raising his voice over the noise of the engines. "You punking out on me?"  
  
He watched Lorne's chin set and rise and he felt a flash of pride at the determined look on his face.  
  
"Hell, no, sir."  
  


* * *

  
  
_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
"How bad, Doc?" John demanded.  
  
"They're very high in potassium," Carson explained, sitting on an overturned shelving unit and resting his chin in his hands. "Which seems to cause the wassal to shift into its defensive state."  
  
"Defensive state?" John repeated, his voice barely audible.  
  
"Aye. Nothing too drastic that I can tell. Significant adrenaline rush. A bit of psychosis, temporary of course, and its claws come out. I told Rodney not to feed it Power Bars or bananas."  
  
"Ok, nobody told me not to feed it after midnight," Lorne protested. "How was I supposed to know it was a gremlin? I thought all that was -- you know what, never mind."  
  
"Sheppard to Weir," John said, tapping his radio.  
  
"Yes, John?" The woman had 'talent show' lurking in her voice, he was sure she did.  
  
"You need to make a city-wide announcement," he said. "Rodney's cat-thing is on the loose and as it turns out, it could be dangerous."  
  
"Understood, Colonel. Weir out."  
  
"Major," he said in the silence before Weir's announcement, "get on the horn to the Marines. Teams of two, everyone on duty or who hasn't been on a mission in the last six hours. You're with me."  
  
"On it, sir."  
  
"Atlantis, this is Dr. Weir. I've been informed by Colonel Sheppard that we have a situation. Dr. McKay's cat…thing…is loose and may be dangerous. If you see it, please report its location to Colonel Sheppard immediately.  
  
"I don't get it," Lorne said when he finished assigning teams. "It didn't even want the Power Bar when I tried to feed it."  
  
Before Beckett could reply, John's radio clicked again.  
  
"Hold on," he said. "This is Sheppard. Go ahead."  
  
"Colonel, this is Dr. Weir. I think you should get up here."  
  
"On my way. Control room," he said to Lorne, taking off at a run.  
  
The Ancients were nothing if not practical and the nearest transporter was just across from the door of the infirmary. John tapped the location of the control room on the schematic of Atlantis on the wall and when the door opened, they were there.  
  
The control room was in chaos.  
  
"I've got it -- "  
  
"Don't let -- "  
  
"Missed -- "  
  
"Got it -- never mind -- "  
  
"Fast little bugger -- "  
  
"Elizabeth?" John asked, walking up behind her. Lights flashed overhead, coffee dripped from consoles, and no one was in their seats.  
  
"No one can get a hand on it," she said incongruously, leaning over the railing and pointing. "There!"  
  
Campbell, who had taken over for Peter Grodin, dove across a console, causing the overhead lights to flicker and a siren to go off before he tumbled over the edge. John winced in sympathetic pain -- the buttons on those panels had hard edges -- and saw Lorne do the same beside him. He saw a red and gold streak dash away.  
  
Campbell hit the ground with a crash that seemed to signal the end of the chase. People abandoned their pursuit and helped him up.  
  
"Are you all right?" Elizabeth called from the upper level. Campbell flashed her a thumbs up and Elizabeth sighed in both relief and defeat. "Sorry, Colonel," she said, turning to John. "It was running across the consoles and I thought we had it."  
  
"Oh, it'll show up somewhere, soon enough," John said, crossing his arms across his chest.  
  
Just then, the transporter opened and Rodney spilled out onto the catwalk.  
  
"Colonel!" he blurted out. "Elizabeth. Did you find her? Carson said -- "His face fell and he turned slowly to look out over the mess of the control room. "Oh. I guess not."  
  
"Sorry, Rodney," Elizabeth said. "We'll find him."  
  
Rodney looked morose for about half a second, then realized John and Lorne were standing there.  
  
"Rodney," John said quickly, to dispel the tantrum he saw building on Rodney's face.  
  
"You, you, _people_!" Rodney exploded. "You think you can bully everyone with physical violence. Haven't you learned anything from last night? You should know better than to make war on a people smarter and more technologically advanced than yourselves, seeing as war is oh, your specialty. And -- oh my _God_. Is that coffee on the Ancient technology?"  
  
"McKay." John steered Rodney away from Lorne. "Look at me. Quark got loose and I've got the whole duty rotation out looking for her. You need to calm down and let my people do their jobs."  
  
Rodney drew himself up and John wasn't sure if there was a yelling fit or a good sulk coming on. Either way, he wasn't waiting around. The rapid clicks in his ear were indicating more Quark sightings. He turned away and walked through the doorway and into the hall where he could cycle through the incoming complaints. Lorne followed him, still in his gym clothes.  
  
"All right, you check out the situation in the mess hall," John told him. "I'm going down to -- "  
  
His radio clicked again and he hit it a little harder than entirely necessary. "What is it?"  
  
"Colonel, this is Lieutenant Cadman. I've got McKay's furball cornered in my quarters."  
  
"We're on our way. Exercise caution," John said quickly, tapping his radio again and taking off at a run. "Cadman," he called back to Lorne. Lorne nodded, tapped his own radio, and started giving orders.  
  
The transporter took them to the living quarters quickly and John let them into Cadman's room without knocking.  
  
There was a thirty degree temperature drop as John walked through the door. He recoiled immediately and winced against the volume of the song echoing in the small suite.  
  
"Geez, Cadman," he said. "I didn't realize you were such a Barry Manilow fan."  
  
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Cadman said dryly, not moving from her attack stance. She had Quark backed into a corner and was threatening it with a squeeze bottle of water. It might have been more threatening if Cadman had been wearing her uniform and not a full set of sweats, fluffy socks, and had a long scarf wrapped twice around her neck. She was one of the Marines excused from Quark-searching because she'd been on a mission a few hours ago.  
  
"Wait a minute," John said, the pieces coming together in his head. "Major Lorne. Your room was blazing hot and you had...what the hell were you playing?"  
  
"It was Mariah Carey, sir," Lorne said immediately. "Part of McKay's psychological warfare."  
  
"It's not just cold water and screwed up environmental controls?" John asked curiously.  
  
"Well, he's gotten really good at the exploding toilets," Lorne said. "But yeah. The lights are on all night, off all day, and he's been pumping music into our quarters 24-7. The AC/DC at 0300 was kinda cool, but when I figure out who brought this crap to another galaxy, they're getting their pencil protector rammed up their -- "  
  
"Thank you, Major," John interrupted. He turned away and tapped his radio. "Beckett? It's Sheppard."  
  
"Colonel! Any luck?"  
  
"We've got it cornered and if I thought you could get near it, I'd be calling for a sedative, but first I have a question."  
  
"All right."  
  
"You said that eating Power Bars would put McKay's...whatever it is...into a...what did you call it? Defensive state."  
  
"Aye."  
  
"Is there anything else that would do the same thing? A smell, a _sound_..."  
  
"Aye. Their ears are fairly sensitive. I would think that if they have predators, it wouldnae be a potassium that alerted them but possibly a high frequency -- and by high, I don't mean even as high as a dog whistle -- "  
  
"Right, so say music pitched toward the high end of the human voice range?" John said, giving Lorne a significant glance.  
  
"Aye, that's possible," Beckett answered.  
  
"That's outstanding," Lorne said, eavesdropping. "Mariah Carey's voice drives small animals to violence. I can't wait to write home."  
  
"Thanks, Doc," John said, tapping his radio off. "Ok, so we know what set Quark off," he said. "And then she got into the Power Bars in your room...which she wouldn't touch _before_...."  
  
"And not just small animals," Cadman announced, jabbing the water bottle warningly at Quark, who was hissing and snarling in the corner. Sir, is there a...cure for this 'roid rage, you think?"  
  
John tapped his radio again. "Sheppard to McKay. McKay. _McKay_." No answer. "Fine. Sheppard to Zelenka."  
  
"Yes, Colonel? This is Dr. Zelenka."  
  
"Zelenka. Where's McKay?"  
  
"That I do not know. He went up to the control room to find his Quark and I have not seen him since."  
  
"Ok, fine, whatever. Look, the music you guys are piping into the Marines rooms is what's driving Quark crazy. Think you could turn it off?"  
  
"I would have no objection if it meant seeing our little friend again," Zelenka said, sounding happier. "But Dr. McKay has controlled all functions to a remote that he carries on his person. You will need to contact him."  
  
John rolled his eyes. "Ok. Thanks, Zelenka." He keyed off his radio. "I'm going to find McKay," he said. "Lorne, give Cadman some...backup, there." He eyed the water bottle. "And give Beckett a call and see if he has any suggestions."  
  
He left as quickly as he could, glad to feel the warm air after the chill of Cadman's quarters. He was surprised that no one had come complaining to him and wondered if that meant his troops were plotting revenge.  
  
Rodney was just leaving his quarters when John turned the corner.  
  
"McKay!" he called, breaking into a jog.  
  
"Have you found Quark, yet, Colonel?" Rodney asked, turning around. "Or are you too busy playing with brainless testosterone gang to even look?"  
  
"Give me the remote, McKay," John ordered, too tired of chasing after the cat-thing to deal with Rodney's attitude.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rodney sniffed.  
  
"The _remote_ ," John snapped. He reached out and pushed on Rodney's shoulder, turning him face-first against the wall.  
  
"Wait, what are you doing?" Rodney asked as John kicked his ankles apart and set a knee against the inside of Rodney's thigh. "Is this some sort of depraved military prison sex?"  
  
"Where is it, McKay?" John growled, starting with Rodney's waist and running both hands over his torso and along the underside of both arms, then the tops, from the shoulders down.  
  
"You don't know where it is?" Rodney asked, skeptical and sarcastic all at once. "Let me give you a clue -- think down, not up."  
  
John was way ahead of him, running both hands lightly up the inside of Rodney's legs, pressing lightly against the material of his pants.  
  
"Colonel, for crying out loud -- " Rodney swallowed the end of his sentence.  
  
John has been sweeping up the inside of Rodney's leg when the back of his wrist found exactly what Rodney had accused him of losing.  
  
As usual, Rodney protested too much and for a reason lightyears away from the one he gave.  
  
John straightened slowly, leaving his hand where it was, and pushing his body gently against Rodney's. Rodney gave a slight, hitching breath that told John exactly what he thought of depraved military prison sex. "Rodney," John breathed, moving slowly against him.  
  
"Oh," Rodney said, sounding half-surprised and half-aroused.  
  
John hit the mechanism on the wall and the door to Rodney's room opened. John got them both inside and Rodney against the wall as he thought, _Close, close, close and lock_ to the door. He pressed his mouth against the back of Rodney's neck and shifted his hips forward, pressing the entire length of his body against Rodney's.  
  
"Condoms and um, lube in the -- in the desk," Rodney sputtered as John rocked gently against him.  
  
"You brought condoms and lube here from Earth?" John asked against Rodney's shoulder.  
  
"Well, in hopes that you might have caught a clue before someone set up a Walgreens in the Pegasus galaxy," Rodney mumbled, pushing back against him. "Call me an optimist."  
  
"All right, hold on," John said, setting his hands on Rodney's hips and lingered with his eyes closed. Frottage hadn't been so enticing since his school days. "I'm gonna -- "  
  
His radio clicked.  
  
"No, no, don't answer it," Rodney said, although John didn't think he was really close enough to hear it. "They can live without you for an hour. Look, here, here's the remote. We'll put it back." He fumbled something out of his hip pocket and started punching buttons. "See, see? Music off, environmental controls back on line -- "  
  
"Sheppard here," John growled. His good humor was completely gone.  
  
"Colonel," Lorne said tiredly, "she's on the loose again."  
  


* * *

  
  
_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_  
  
John snagged a radio headset from the bulkhead and pulled it onto his head. He raised his eyebrows at Lorne and flashed him a thumbs up before toggling the intercom.  
  
"This Cadet First Class John Sheppard," he said crisply. "I'm in the cargo bay -- "  
  
"Sheppard?"  
  
John froze and winced at the intercom. He knew that voice.  
  
"This is Captain Davis. What the hell are you doing in my cargo bay?"  
  
"Sir, I -- " He took his thumb off the button for a second and chewed on his lower lip. "I [reconned](http://www.offpanel.net/smittywing/beatingsgloss.html#6) the Navy goat, sir."  
  
"What? That was you?" John's AOC sounded pissed enough to shit bricks. "Sheppard -- "  
  
"Sir, I had intended to have it back on the field with, uh..." He thought of the bag tucked into his flight suit. "...appropriate spirit attire. But it got away from me, sir. I found it in your plane just as you were taking off."  
  
" _You_ did that?" Captain Davis's tone was disbelieving. "Brass ones, Sheppard. Speaking of brass, the 'Dant isn't so pleased about you tying up a plebe for four hours."  
  
"I know, sir," John called into the radio. "He's not too thrilled about it either. I've got him back here, too."  
  
"You've got -- you mean you're both AWOL from the game?"  
  
"Yes, sir. But I've got a plan."  
  
Silence, during which John and Lorne exchanged dubious glances and then, "This better be good, Sheppard."  
  
"Yes, sir. I think you'll like it." John took a deep breath. "We want to jump, sir. There are chutes back here. You fly over the stadium and Bill, Fourth Class Lorne and I will parachute into the stadium."  
  
"Sheppard, that's the worst idea ever."  
  
"Sir, I've done the calculations. I'll run a static line for the goat. Lorne and I jump after it, deploy at five thousand feet when Bill deploys at seven and we'll be on the field in plenty of time to handle his landing."  
  
"Sheppard -- "  
  
"I've got my jump quals, sir, and Lorne here has a few jumps under his belt." Lorne widened his eyes at John. John ignored him.  
  
"You really think you can pull this off, Sheppard?" Davis barked. "Because one bad call, one broken bone -- "  
  
"It'll be the best Beat Navy ever, sir," John said.  
  
This time the silence was long and ended with a sigh of capitulation. "All right, Sheppard. Give me your numbers."  
  


* * *

  
  
_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
"Wait!" Rodney called as John walked out the door.  
  
"I don't have time for this, McKay," John sighed, turning in the doorway and bracing one hand on the frame.  
  
"Yes, you do. Look." Rodney picked up something from his desk, shoved a control crystal into it and tossed it to Sheppard.  
  
It was a life signs detector and it glowed in John's hand to show the white spots that were himself and Rodney and then a yellow spot racing down a parallel hallway.  
  
"See, there she is," Rodney said, leaning over the detector and pointing at the yellow spot. "I rigged the -- "  
  
"Save it for later, McKay," John said, turning and walking swiftly to intercept the yellow dot.  
  
"Wait, what are you going to use to subdue her? Because I have an idea."  
  
"Then talk fast."  
  
"Ok, Quark got all upset by the music, right? So if we play some nice, soothing, calming music, then maybe -- "  
  
"It'll soothe the savage beast?"  
  
"Long enough for Beckett to stick one of his needles in her."  
  
"Has promise. Pull up something pretty on that iPod of yours."  
  
John turned the corner and saw Quark racing down the hallway, straight toward him. Lorne and Cadman were hot on his tail.  
  
"Whoa, ok, McKay, get a move on!" John feinted to the right and then dove left to scoop up Quark in his bare hands. He suffered for it, sharp little cat claws tearing as his palms and the back of his hands as Quark escaped and scrambled up his chest. He grabbed for her again and struggled as Lorne and Cadman shouted and Rodney muttered and punched buttons and then the hallway was filled with music and Quark paused on his shoulder.  
  
John plucked her off and held her up. She was still panting and snarling a little, but mostly she looked confused and a bit put out about having nothing to scratch.  
  
Beckett stepped out of the transporter. "Ah, I see our wee patient is ready for her medicine," he said cheerfully, stepping up and sliding the needle easily into Quark's flank. "That should do her."  
  
It took her three seconds to go limp.  
  
"I hope you didn't OD her with your imprecise witchcraft," Rodney snapped, taking her from John's hands and cuddling her against his chest.  
  
"Wouldn't dream of it," Beckett said, rolling his eyes. "To the infirmary with her, now, Rodney. You, too, Colonel. Let me clean those scratches."  
  
"Fine, fine," John said, flexing his hand. "Lorne, Cadman, go do your thing. Call off the search parties."  
  
Lorne nodded and moved off to complete his duties.  
  
John cocked his head and listened to what Rodney was piping into the halls. "Rodney," he said warningly. "Is this what I think it is?"  
  
"If you didn't want me using the most boring music ever written," Rodney said matter-of-factly, "then you never should have given me the password to your mp3 folder."  
  
John stepped into the transporter after Rodney and reminded himself that he was never going to get to use the lube and condoms in Rodney's desk drawer if he killed Rodney for calling Johnny Cash boring.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Falcon Stadium, Colorado Springs, 1988_  
  
John checked his own chute, Lorne's, and Bill's. He would have preferred to pack his own but this was something he'd have to get used to in the 'real' Air Force. He buckled himself into a pack and watched carefully as Lorne got into his own.  
  
"Sheppard?" Davis's voice came from the radio in the bulkhead. "I'm in a holding pattern over the stadium. You have two minutes to kickoff."  
  
John thumbed the transmission button on his headset. "Thank you, sir. We're prepping the goat." John left the radio and reached into the bag Nate had packed earlier. He pulled out the blanket they'd decorated and tossed it over Bill's back.  
  
"Aw, c'mon," Lorne said. "You're not gonna -- "  
  
" It's my firstie year and we will never again have a use for this masterpiece,' " John said. "I am absolutely getting restriction out of this, so I might as well make the whole thing worth it."  
  
Lorne quieted and handed John the third chute.  
  
"All right," John murmured, holding the thing against his chest. "How are we going to do this?"  
  
He sat the pack on Bill's back and started wrapping one of the straps around Bill's stomach, to pin the blanket down. The goat turned its head, glared at him, and proceeded to dump the pack on the ground.  
  
"Ok, you're going to have to hold him," John said to Lorne.  
  
"What?"  
  
"We've got two minutes to get down there," John reminded him. "And he's not just going to hold still and let me put this thing on him.  
  
"He's not going to like this," Lorne said, putting the goat in some sort of modified headlock and bracing himself.  
  
"He doesn't have to like it," John grunted, resituating the blanket and then the pack. He pressed the pack down with his chest, leaning awkwardly around the goat and Lorne to buckle the straps. "He's a goat." And after a pause, added, "We never speak of this again, got it?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Lorne agreed through clenched teeth.  
  
"Ok, ok, I almost got it. One more sec. Ok." John rolled off to the side, glaring at the goat. "I smell like goat."  
  
"I do, too, sir."  
  
"Ok." John rolled to his feet and rigged the static line to Bill's backpack. "Captain Davis, sir? We're ready to open the door."  
  
The light over the door flashed twice and the sound of the catch releasing was audible. John heaved the door open while Lorne held onto Bill and the wind rushed into the Twin Otter. John shielded himself with the door as best he could, but he was pretty sure there was no hope for his hair.  
  
He looked down at the field and the stands and the thousands of people below them and then looked back at Lorne.  
  
"You ready to do this, kid?"  
  
"Sir, yes, sir!"  
  
Lorne was fucking terrified. John sighed to himself and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed.  
  
"All right, bring up Bill."  
  
Bill planted his hooves and sat down.  
  
"Now, Lorne, get him here now!" John checked over his shoulder. They had seconds to get Bill in position and out the door if he was going to land on the field and not in the stands. John started counting to himself.  
  
Lorne, to his credit, didn't hesitate. He put his shoulder against the goat's back and shoved it across the deck of the DHC-6.  
  
John joined him behind the goat and together they heaved Bill out of the plane and watched until the static line pulled taut and Bill's parachute deployed. Lorne relaxed visibly.  
  
John was still counting desperately in his head, waiting for Captain Davis to circle around and put them back in range. Twenty-eight, twenty-seven --  
  
"Hey, Lorne," he yelled over the wind. "Nice job." He stuck out his hand. "My name's John. I owe you a drink after all this." Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.  
  
Lorne was a little slow on the uptake. Then a bright smile appeared on his face. "Thank you!" he replied earnestly. Nine. Eight. Seven. "My name is -- "  
  
John shoved him out the door. Fucking shame about the timing. He'd have to get Lorne's first name later. He marched off the airplane and found himself in freefall. John Sheppard saw no point in jumping out of perfectly good airplanes, but he saw a point in jumping out of faulty ones and he saw the point in practicing, should his perfectly good airplane not stay that way.  
  
And, ok, maybe the freefall was sort of fun.  
  
He fell past an already floating Bill, counted to five, and pulled his ripcord. The shoulder harness jerked him up and back -- well, it felt up and back -- as the parachute deployed and then he was just floating, sinking slowly in the bright autumn sky. A quick glance down told him that he was definitely over Falcon Stadium, even over the field, and it wouldn't take much in the way of adjustment to put him right where he needed to be.  
  
He hoped Bill was that lucky. He hoped his math was that good.  
  
John twisted around and was relieved to see Lorne descending with him, maybe fifty yards away, looking as if he'd just swallowed the worst Beat Air Force -- John assumed Navy would drink the reverse -- ever. One with the juice from the turkey pastrami pan, and no, John didn't privately want to hurl every time those sandwiches appeared on the lunch menu, thank you very much.  
  
A few seconds later, John realized that everyone -- and by everyone, he meant the entire Cadet Wing, a handful of midshipmen, an ungodly number of parents, officers, enlisted folk, and a number of the residents of Colorado Springs -- was watching them descend. He wondered if Captain Davis had managed to radio ahead or if there were some untold number of Marine sniper scopes pointed at his head. He used his steering lines and toggles to adjust his descent slightly and saw Lorne fumbling to angle himself somewhere around the twenty yard line. John hit near Air Force's forty, jogged forward a few steps, and shrugged off his pack, as his chute hit the astroturf. The defensive line had parted for him and for that, he was grateful, but he had more important things to do than knock helmets.  
  
Bill was coming down in a controlled drift, just about over the fifty, where John had sent him. Even as he waited with Lorne, who had sprinted forty yards to get there, for Bill to get within catching range, John felt pretty pleased with his aim.  
  
Goats were heavier than they looked and being taller, John suffered the brunt of Bill's return to earth. He wrestled him down as gently as possible and immediately started unbuckling the straps. There was movement everywhere, football players and the 'Dant and who knew who else running at them, but on the sideline, John saw a familiar sight and smiled.  
  
Nate and Dan were running for him, wooden cart in tow. He made short work of Bill's parachute and dumped the whole mess in Lorne's arms. Dan manhandled Bill onto the cart and he and Nate took off, leaving John to get yelled at and laugh just as loud as everyone else as they circled the field with Bill.  
  
Bill, of course, looked dashing in his new blanket, which bore the seal of the Air Force Academy on one side.  
  
The other side proclaimed, "Air Force Flies! Navy Dies!"  
  


* * *

  
  
_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
Quark came out of her sedative-induced sleep just as sweet and adorable as she'd been before her capture. Rodney fawned over her and fed her from his own tray as John poked a spoon in his jello and watched. Then they went to Rodney's room, waited for Quark to fall asleep -- so not to traumatize her -- and got experimental with Rodney's stash of lube and condoms. John decided not to ruin the afterglow by asking about Rodney's piano skills.  
  


* * *

  
  
_US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988_  
  
John ignored a half dozen regulations and bought Lorne that drink. After that, he delivered Lorne to Bill Mulveny and Brad Connolly for that real meal in Colorado Springs and delivered himself to Nate. Nate stopped laughing at him long enough to give him not just the promised blow job, but also a nice, slow, finger-fucking. John made certain to enjoy every second because the special disciplinary board the Commandant convened Monday morning gave him three months of restriction and enough tours to keep him on campus until spring break.  
  


* * *

  
  
_Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005_  
  
"So how _did_ you wind up in the Air Force?" Sheppard asked Lorne as they walked down a blessedly quiet hallway.  
  
Lorne shrugged. "Some crazy zoomie spooned me and then kicked me out an airplane door. It was such a rush, I did the exchange cadet program second class year, decided I liked the Air Force better than the Marines, and cross-commissioned."  
  
"Go figure," Sheppard said, only a little bit smug, really. "Well, Major, we're glad to have you."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Lorne paused at his door. "If you don't mind, I think I'll grab that shower now."  
  
"Good plan. And good job today." John had gone another twenty feet down the hall when he heard Lorne call to him.  
  
"Colonel!"  
  
"Yeah?" he asked, pivoting lazily on one foot.  
  
"The score of the 1988 Air Force - Navy game was 34 to 24, sir," Lorne said. "Air Force."  
  
John nodded. "Thank you." He smiled. "I haven't forgotten."  
  
He headed down the hall and walked into his own room, only to find Elizabeth sitting at his desk with a thick file folder on her lap.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here," he drawled, tilting his head to read the white label on the folder.  
  
"You know what this is, Colonel?"  
  
"Looks like my service jacket," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
"Mm," Elizabeth agreed. "And I've read it. I've read the _whole_ thing."  
  
"And now you want to borrow _War and Peace_?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"No. I just wanted to let you know that the reason for that last major infraction at the Academy isn't a complete secret." She raised her eyebrows. "You might want to be careful who gets ahold of that information. Particularly if it's someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with. I believe you have a talent show to plan?"  
  
"What? Elizabeth!" John gestured wildly at the door and all that lay beyond. "The Marines are thrilled! McKay drove his own cat feral! This is the best thing that's happened for them all year!" Elizabeth smiled sweetly at him when he paused to take a breath. "And it hasn't been a week, yet."  
  
"I'm exercising my authority," Elizabeth told him. "Good luck, and have fun." She stood up serenely and walked out of his door.  
  
John threw himself on his bed, unhooked his radio from his ear and covered his eyes with his arm. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.  
  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> Excuses: None  
> Blame: Mostly [](http://reccea.livejournal.com/profile)[**reccea**](http://reccea.livejournal.com/) for agreeing with me that sure, I could have this done in two days and then talked to me every day for over a week to make sure I was still working on this. Also, to [](http://miss-porcupine.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_porcupine**](http://miss-porcupine.livejournal.com/) for refusing to pity me and to [](http://kerithwyn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kerithwyn.livejournal.com/)**kerithwyn** for being available to whine to. Apparently somebody needs to explain to me -- slowly and in words of one syllable -- the definition of 'flashfic'. This came in at about 14,500 words.


End file.
